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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591510">Shoe Wh*re</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune'>zodesune</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Anal Fingering, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, F/M, Foot Fetish, Multiple Orgasms, Reader-Insert, Shoe Kink, Swearing, Workplace Sex, degradation kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:08:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On your work trip to Tokyo, in the middle of a buyer's meeting with your long-time client, you let two little words slip. You don’t expect anyone to hear, especially not Tanaka Ryu, the owner of a streetwear brand, and the man you would give anything to taste.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tanaka Ryuunosuke &amp; Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shoe Wh*re</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthehardestthing/gifts">thisisthehardestthing</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This indulgent fic is a gift to my best friend, my tumblr wife, my discord partner in thirst, Claudia. May your love for feet, fashion and Tanaka Ryu never die.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The walk from your hotel in Roppongi to the streetwear store in Omote-Sando is only twenty minutes, shorter than you expected. You glance at the path laid in blue dots across your screen before checking your appearance one last time in the hotel mirror. </p><p>With hair falling softly around your face, a pair of wide, clear-rimmed glasses perched on your nose, a swipe of mascara, a touch of lipgloss, and the natural glow of your skin, you strike the perfect balance between professional and alluring. You feel confident, even a little sexy in your outfit, a silky, calf-length skirt and a long-sleeved shirt with an asymmetrical collar, enough to show a triangle of collar bone without looking intentionally provocative. Perfect for the man you are about to meet.</p><p>Your boutique hotel is a visual feast of Nordic and Japanese design, a narrow thing nestled between a famous Omakase restaurant and a vinyl record store-cum-burger bar. A short ride down the elevator takes you to street level, where you step into the crisp and effervescent air of a sunny September morning. The broad street in front of you is crowded by the overhead train tracks and the creep of morning traffic, so you turn down a back street, grateful that you decided to forego the hired car. A walk would be perfect, a far better way to see the city. </p><p>The neighbourhood changes as you move closer to the shopping district. The buildings are shorter, older, made of mottled concrete or the type of thin, brown tiling you only ever see in Tokyo. Many have been gutted and replaced by glass-fronted boutiques. You make a mental note to return to the Nezu Museum, and later to a charming terraced pancake shop. You are entranced by the smells of warm dough, roasted coffee, scrunched leather and jasmine pearl tea that waft out of every store as they open for the day, smiling as the morning sun rains shy kisses upon your face. You stifle the urge to skip down the road, not wanting to scuff or crease your favourite pair of sneakers.</p><p>Finally, you reach the familiar block of boutiques that has become known as Streetwear Row. In the middle stands a striking, three story building that looks like the lovechild of an art gallery and a konbini. You have always loved the design of Ryūhi’s flagship store, the clothing and shoe brand designed like a mini-mart from heaven. On the first floor, clothes are lined on metal racks and shelves like colourful grocery aisles, ever populated by customers so fashionable they belong on droptokyo. The design is impressive, balancing the feeling of a tipsy two am snack run with the relaxed openness of an iconic urban brand. </p><p>The founders of Ryūhi, Azumane Asahi and Tanaka Ryūnosuke, created the concept after countless hours huddled outside their local convenience store, wolfing down nikuman with their volleyball teammates. Azumane spends the bulk of his time in the Paris showroom, but Tanaka can often be seen in their head office on the top floor, watching the street as he snacks on melonpan in between meetings. You flick your gaze up, hoping to catch sight of him and feel more than a little disappointed to see the office nearly empty. </p><p>Sandwiched between the two floors is your favourite part of the store, and the entire reason for your trip: shoes. As a senior buyer for one of the largest shoe retailers in New York City, you often come in person to get the drop on the upcoming season’s shoes. Ryūhi has been your long time favourite, a brand you pushed for back when you were an intern and they were a fledgling company battling for space in Tokyo’s formidable sneaker scene. </p><p>You are ushered to the second floor by a shy store attendant, left to peruse the shoes you ordered last quarter, many of which you already own, one of which you happen to be wearing. You gaze down at the chunky white sneakers embellished with two Paradise Flycatcher birds, their verdant, tangerine tails curving around the heels. Is it too much? You think for the tenth time. It isn’t uncommon to wear the sneakers of the brands you visit, yet you now find yourself overthinking everything you wore today, wondering whether your infatuation with Tanaka is becoming far too obvious. </p><p>“You’re early!” You hear the rich, rough voice that sends a fire raging through your veins. Though you have not forgotten how sinful his voice sounds thanks to regular conference calls, the combined effect of his face sends your mind to a dangerous place. You gather every shred of professionalism you possess and rise from your seat. </p><p>“Tanaka!” you wince inside at how high your voice sounds. “Good morning,” now lower, you match his beaming smile with one of your own. </p><p>“I apologise for making you wait,” his English is husky, lilting, like he’s stroking each syllable with his tongue. “I thought you would be stuck in morning traffic, so I stopped for some coffee. Would you like some?” </p><p>You had been so thoroughly focused on keeping your gaze upon his eyes that you only now notice the enormous egg-yellow jug in his hand. </p><p>“Did you rob a coffee shop?” a laugh erupts from your chest. </p><p>For the first time ever, you see the man blush, clutching his keys behind his head as he laughs sheepishly. You want to reach out and touch the heat dusting his cheeks, to brush it away like fallen spring flowers. You clench your hands behind your back. </p><p>“The shop on the corner belongs to my friend. I buy coffee for the office. Sometimes.”</p><p>As though summoned by the smell, his quiet general manager appears at the base of the stairs, giving you a curt but familiar greeting before taking the pot, leaving several bags of Ryūhi merchandise. Tanaka effortlessly switches into Japanese, speaking to Shimizu in a low, rapid tone. Though her winsome face remains placid, she elicits several bursts of laughter from Tanaka, and—not for the first time—your stomach clenches. You were never given reason to believe they have anything other than a comfortable friendship, yet you can’t help but feel envious of the way she seamlessly handles his energy. She never matches it though, you note. She never does. </p><p>From your intermediate Japanese skills, you can only gather snippets. Although you can make your way around the city, you are not yet capable of discussing SKUs, KPIs and other business jargon. Instead, you find your eyes drifting down the length of Tanaka’s body, taking in the curve of his neck below his black beanie, the swell of his arms beneath his charcoal sweater, the fitted curve of his trousers that do wonders for his taut ass and the pair of perfectly scuffed sneakers on his feet, the exact edition as yours, only in dark grey. Dammit, the man is devastatingly attractive, even more so when he removes the beanie, levelling his signature close-cropped hair and sparkling ocean-grey eyes at you. Wait, he’s looking at you. Snap out of it. </p><p>“Are you ready to see some shoes?” he claps his hands together. </p><p>“I’d be delighted!” you chirp. </p><p>“I’d be delighted,” he parrots, amused by the phrase for reasons beyond you. </p><p>“I like the way that you speak,” he grins. “So proper. <em>I’d be delighted. </em>Sit down. Please!” he busies himself flicking through documents on a tablet whilst the store assistant hurriedly sets out several pairs of shoes before you, each more entrancing than the last. Shimizu returns armed with three cups of coffee and promptly takes control of the tablet, leaving Tanaka to do what he does best: charm his buyers into taking everything in the store. </p><p>“May I?” After walking you through their upcoming line, an array so creative and exciting it has you quite literally on the edge of your seat, Tanaka drops to his knee before you, a shoe in hand. When he first put shoes on you, back when you were a junior buyer and only acquainted by email, you had nearly yelped. It is rare to have someone else fasten your shoes for you, let alone the head of the brand. It never happens. Yet, there is something humble and warm-hearted about the way he approaches shoes, and something scintillating about the way he handles the feet beneath them. It is as though he takes as much pleasure from a beautiful foot as he does from a well-designed shoe, a love you can deeply relate to. </p><p>Now accustomed to his hands-on approach, you slip out of your sneakers and proffer your right foot, swathed in a low, white sock. You stifle the shiver that shoots up your legs when his fingers brush your skin. With his palm around your heel, he slips a sneaker on your foot with all the reverence of a prince. </p><p>“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “How is it?” </p><p>Unsurprisingly, the shoes feel divine. As someone accustomed to the pinch and scrape of sneakers after a long day of training, Tanaka vowed that every shoe would feel like walking on clouds. You glance down at it, a design so stunningly simple it takes your breath away.</p><p>“You have outdone yourself, Tanaka,” you exclaim. </p><p>“Hatashite,” he grins. “I knew you would like this pair. Here, look at this. Also in green.” Tanaka swiftly places a shoe of the same design on your left foot. The colour is so dark it might be black, but as he rotates your foot to catch the light, you notice the undertones of an iridescent forest green. </p><p>You are so enraptured by the shoes, you barely notice the grin painting your face until your cheeks start to hurt. </p><p>“You like it?” he asks, knowing the answer well enough. “Wait until you see the next pair.”</p><p>The following hour is spent trying on shoes, pacing up and down the store as you get a feel for them. Tanaka insists on only letting you order the shoes that you love. Even if you think a pair might be good for your store, if you so much as wince or tilt your head, he moves on to the next pair without a second thought. By now, he is so attuned to your expressions, that he can nearly predict how many pairs you will order. </p><p>“Do you want to take a break, or you want to see more? Is it too much?” he chuckles. </p><p>“Are you kidding me? I could never get tired!” you laugh as you marvel at a pair in the mirror, twisting your feet to appreciate the angles. In a quiet voice, you murmur, “I’m such a shoe whore.” You feel a prickle on your neck and look up. Through the reflection in the mirror, you see Tanaka’s eyes darken to a stormy shade of grey, for only a moment. Your breath hitches in your throat. Over the sound of the store’s music, there is no way he could have heard it. Could he? The cheery expression on his face gives nothing away. </p><p>However, the next time he puts a shoe on has you questioning everything. The way his hands runs down your calf before steadying your heel, the way his fingers brush your skin for a second longer than they should, and especially the look he casts up at you as he slots your foot into place. </p><p>“This cut for the sneaker is significant,” his words roll over your body. “The low top curves like this to show off more ankle, to highlight it. For women and men. It is…” he trails off. “What is the word?” he shoots a question to Shimizu. </p><p>“Sensual,” she calls out without raising her eyes from the tablet. </p><p>“Sensual,” he meets your gaze, his eyes like a tempest. “But very… understated. More…”</p><p>“Subtle?” you breathe. </p><p>“Yes!” He searches for the words. “The naked foot is intimate, you will not see my foot, but I can show you some ankle. Do you understand?”</p><p>“It’s a tease,” you offer. </p><p>“Exactly! … What do you think?”</p><p>“I love it,” you nod. “I love the concept behind it.”</p><p>In a low voice he chuckles, “I am also a shoe whore.” Though there is a smile on his face, his eyes are a bottomless whirlpool, dangerous, dragging you in. You feel a flush beneath your shirt, a pooling of heat between your thighs. You would clench them together if he wasn’t still holding your ankle. </p><p>“So, you’ll take a hundred units to start?” he barks out, jovial and polite as ever. This man will be the death of you.</p><p>“I can sort out the details later,” Shimizu strides back from the sales counter. “Ryu, you have a meeting with the urban design council,” she switches into Japanese. </p><p>“Ah man, do I have to go?” his demeanour changes entirely, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes. </p><p>“Well, no,” Shimizu blinks. “You can stay if you log the rest of L/N-san’s orders.” </p><p>You hold your breath, pretending not to understand as you type gibberish into a blank email. </p><p>“Of course I can do that,” he scoffs. </p><p>“Correctly.” Shimizu’s warning is firm and unforgiving. </p><p>“C’mon, give me some credit, Kiyoko! I can handle a lot more than some shoe orders.”</p><p>She eyes him without a word. Finally she sighs and hands over the tablet. He looks like a kid with a candy bar, entirely overjoyed by something so mundane. You feel giddy at the thought of having Tanaka to yourself, but you fix a nonchalant expression when she turns to you.</p><p>“It was good to see you again, L/N-san. Thank you for supporting our business.” Shimizu gives another curt nod before she heads upstairs. The sales attendants have barely begun clearing up the shoes before she strides across the landing, coat and bag in hand. </p><p>“See ya later!” Tanaka calls gleefully. She gives a weighted <em>‘mhmmm’</em> in response. </p><p>Whilst he busies himself with the last of your orders, you wander to the back of the room. The entire wall is lined with glass cabinets, exactly like the refrigerator at the back of a convenience store, displaying their most iconic shoes. Through the mirror behind them, you surreptitiously check your appearance. </p><p>“You remember those shoes, huh?” Tanaka’s voice comes over your shoulder, so close he could be whispering in your ear. Tendrils of a scent tickle your nose, a freshness like the first crunch of a green apple, and something zesty, minty, familiar. So familiar. It envelops you, that vibrant intensity, the smell of him is so sublime, yet all at once expansive, like Poseidon in the throes of passion. Every inch of your skin seems to flip over. You need to calm the fuck down.</p><p>“From the Karasu collection, one of the first ones I made, the first ones I sold you,” he continues, unaware of the rapture his mere presence has unleashed in you. “We were a nothing brand at the time, but you took a chance on us. I cannot thank you enough, Y/N.”</p><p>His body is so close you can feel the heat radiating from it, though it is nothing compared to the inferno inside you, threatening to ruin you from the inside out if you add any more fuel. “What is that pair? I don’t recognise them,” you gesture to a pale-blue sneaker in the fridge to your left, desperate for distraction. </p><p>“Ah, that was a pair we never made. Would you like to see?” His breath grazes the skin of your neck. You raise a hand to the fridge, but he catches your wrist. If only he knew what it did to you, how hard it was to think straight.</p><p>“These do not open; the shoes are limited edition. Very expensive. Come with me,” he guides you gently by the wrist. Though the gesture is tender, the feeling spreading up your body is anything but. You expect to be led upstairs into the office. Instead, he stops at the last fridge and swings the door open. It reveals a room a few metres deep, cast in warm light from fashioned street lamps and the blue glow from the refrigerators. Without windows, the walls are dark and dotted with luminescent stars. Aside from the furniture and abundant bar, it could be the outside of a convenience store. Everything he creates is so thoughtful, and this breathtaking room is no exception. Though it is impossible to see in, you can see everything happening in the store as it begins to fill with customers. </p><p>“When we have a client who wants privacy, if the store is crowded, we come in here. It is a bit small, so for buyers as important as you, we close the entire floor. May I offer you something to drink? Water? Tea? Something stronger?”</p><p>“Whatever you’re having, thank you,” you breathe, distracted by the sudden intimacy of the room. </p><p>“You can touch the shoes, if you want. I trust you,” he grins.</p><p>“Thank you, Tanaka.”</p><p>As he fixes you a drink, you silently swing open the cabinet and remove a single shoe. Careful to only touch the inside and the sole, you marvel at the perfection of the stitching, the sweep of overlapped fabric, and the almost-ethereal shade of sky blue. The shoe is puzzling, pulling a knot between your brows. It would have been a hit on your site, yet they shelved it. Why? And what is this fabric? So smooth it could be leather, but the grain is… different, perplexing.</p><p>His scent once again mists your already cloudy thoughts.</p><p>“What is this made of?” you blurt, in an effort to remain lucid. </p><p>“Cactus leather, beautiful. At the time it was too hard to source. Maybe one day soon,” he gives a shrug and a soft smile. How lovely of him to revel in nostalgia when you are casually drowning in your own arousal. </p><p>As he passes you a glass, his fingers linger over yours. “Yuzu sake with a bit of seltzer because it’s only midday,” he chuckles. </p><p>“Thanks, Tanaka,” you meet his gaze for what could be the shortest spurt of eye contact in human history. </p><p>“May I call you by your first name?” his voice is like a languid river. </p><p>“Of course!” you hide your fluster behind the rim of your glass. </p><p>“Then call me Ryu. Please.”</p><p>This time, he does not hide his desire behind a smile. His eyes burn into you with the sharpest intensity. You can no longer deny your shared attraction, but would you dare act on it? </p><p>“I hope I am not too forward, Y/N. I would not want to ruin our work relationship, because you are very important to us, to me,” he carefully selects each word. “But it is becoming difficult for me to… conduct myself.”</p><p>“You don’t have to be so formal, Ryu,” your voice is soft yet it fills the room. </p><p>He laughs bashfully, running a hand over his shorn hair. “I am worried I will say something rude. I have been told I am too straight-forward.”</p><p>You have learnt by now that doing business in Japan requires you to read between the lines, but dammit, you want him to say it, you need him to say it. </p><p>“I don’t mind,” your heart pounds so loud you swear he can hear it. “You can be rude, it won’t change how I feel about you.”</p><p>“How do you feel about me?” It comes out like a faint cloud, hanging onto the air between you. It had never occurred to you that the confident man before you, the one who touched your feet within an hour of meeting you, could be so nervous.</p><p>“You first,” you whisper.</p><p>His expression darkens, his features twisting in a way that would make you scared if you weren’t so turned on by the rumble in his chest. His voice plummets an octave when he speaks. “I’m gonna be fucking honest, I don’t know how to describe what I feel about you in English.”</p><p>The squeal that falls from your mouth is barely human. You have no time to even comprehend how you made such a sound before he begins pouring actual poetry over you. His words are molten, strong, like a river of lava consuming everything in its path, including you. You catch snippets of familiar words carried forth by sentences so complex you couldn’t begin to translate them—<em>and is that a fucking haiku?</em> It sounded like a haiku, but you are swept along too fast. Your entire body feels scorched and flooded, and when he finally falls quiet, all you can say is,</p><p>“Well, shit.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>shit,</em>” he looks as surprised as you are. “Your turn.”</p><p>“Fuck no,” you gasp. “I’m still processing all of that.”</p><p>“I get it if this is too much. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same,” he takes a fortifying sip of his drink. From the way his knuckles stand out as he grips the glass, you can tell that it would definitely not be alright. The metres between you feel like a mile, the years you’ve waited for this like a lifetime. “It doesn’t have to affect our work. It shouldn’t affect it—“</p><p>“Just—give me a sec, okay?” You push your hands over your hair as though you could smooth out your own frazzled thoughts. “I feel the same way—I think. I just—how the fuck am I supposed to follow up after that? I’m a writer, for fuck’s sake, and none of my words seem like enough—I just need a second to think.”</p><p>“Don’t think about it,” his voice is barely audible above the thudding of your heart, or your cunt, perhaps both. Probably both. “Don’t say it. You can do that later, I don’t care. Do you want this?”</p><p>“Fuck yes,” you gush, closing the distance between you.</p><p>“Wait,” he rumbles. With a few swift taps on the tablet, the red lights on the surveillance camera flicker off. The door clicks shut. Tanaka barely sets down the tablet before he is on you, all over you, touching you, tasting you, finally. You can barely hold yourself together under the onslaught of his lips. When he pauses to rip his shirt off, your desperate inhale turns to a gasp. You take in the definition of his abs, like muscular tiles beneath his satin skin. His chest is so smooth you could paint a wall with his pecs, but what catches your eye is the narrow trail of hair disappearing below the hem of his jeans. You have to know where it leads.</p><p>“Take off your pants,” you gasp.</p><p>“You first,” he smirks. </p><p>Taking two steps back, you pull your shirt over your head. You cannot see his reaction when your breasts bounce free, but you hear it, that tightening in his throat. Unzipping your skirt, you let it pool at your feet, leaving your shoes behind. Standing in a matching lingerie set and secret socks, you stride over to him, waiting for him to undress. The man seems so enamoured by your near-naked body that he has entirely forgotten the existence of his hands. You unzip his trousers, pushing them down and holding them with your feet so that he can step out. Behind him is the wide chaise-lounge, and you press down on his shoulders until he is seated. Turning slowly, you lower your underwear until your hands touch the floor,  spreading your cheeks before him. Between the string of slick that drags from your dripping core to the plump swell of your pussy to the pucker of your ass between your two spread cheeks, he can hardly decide where to look. You are a feast to his eyes and he has been waiting far too long to eat.</p><p>When you turn around, straddle him, let your breasts spring free in his face, only then does he remember exactly who the fuck he is. Before you can say a single enticing word, he has you flipped onto your back, towering over you as he wrenches his boxers off. When his thick, fleshy cock springs free, you hear the most guttural <em>‘fuck’</em> you have ever come across. You’re even more surprised when you realise it came from you. </p><p>Only your socks remain, and Tanaka is thrilled to get rid of them. Gripping the fabric between his teeth, he peels one off, taking in the sight of your bare foot with some curiosity. It occurs to you that he has never seen you without socks on. To say he likes what he sees would be a grave understatement. Ripping the other sock off, he kneels on the chaise, he holds one foot against his chest and pulls the other to his face.</p><p>“Fuck, I love your feet, baby. I want to buy you a thousand pairs so I can tear them off.” He presses frantic kisses to the pads of your toes before taking your big toe in his mouth, tonguing it with reckless abandon. </p><p>He kisses and licks his way up your calf, your thighs, stroking the legs neglected by his mouth. You gasp and whimper his name, trying to stay quiet even when he nips at the sensitive skin beside your dripping cunt. When he lowers his mouth onto your slick flesh, you manage to hold back, but no amount of willpower can stop you from crying out when he pinches your clit and mercilessly sticks a tongue into your fluttering hole.</p><p>“Shit, sorry!” you clamp your hands over your mouth.</p><p>“It’s soundproof. Almost.” Tanaka winks up at you before devouring your cunt once more. </p><p>The sounds of his tongue exploring your clit, his mouth lapping you up are utterly obscene. You seize up when a flash of movement catches your eye: a couple peering at shoes in the cabinet only a metre away. Though you know they cannot see you, the thought of it makes a spurt drip out of your cunt and onto his tongue. </p><p>“Does it turn you on, baby? You want me to fuck you in front of strangers, huh?” You have never heard him sound so cocky, and it drives you wild. To stifle a moan, you bite your lip so hard you fear it might bruise. The tension coursing through your muscles as you strain against his mouth doesn’t go unnoticed. “Come on, maybe if you are loud enough, someone will hear,” he growls. “I would not mind writing a public apology for fucking my gorgeous lover in my own store.”</p><p>
  <em> Fuuuck.</em>
</p><p>Tanaka is voracious, lapping up every new wave that seeps from your walls. Just when you think you can’t handle any more, he takes his wetted fingertip and slides it into your ass, holding your hip down as you buck against his free hand. The orgasm that rips through you is so ferocious, you can’t be sure if the world is still moving. You feel suspended in pleasure, frozen in the air, straining against your own lungs, until the longest groan leaves your body and sets you free. Like a chasm torn through the earth, your walls crash together in rolling aftershocks, slamming into you so hard that your muscles contract. You know how long your body has craved him, but you never expected it to go this berserk.</p><p>Wiping his face on your inner thigh, Tanaka rises, stroking the length of his cock with your cocktail of cum. As you float down from your high, you are drawn to the motion like a hypnotism, your mouth falling open at the thought of being filled by him. </p><p>“I need you in me,” you breathe through the trance.</p><p>Tanaka shakes his head as though it pains him. “Not today baby, I didn’t bring one.” </p><p>“I have an IUD.” The man has no clue what you mean. You have no clue how to translate it. “The copper T, the implant,” you trace a t-shape through the air. You don’t need to tell him twice.</p><p>He sinks down, spreading his knees wide and wrenching you closer, like you weigh next to nothing. Somewhere in your hazy mind, you remember that he used to play volleyball. It more than explains the strength and flexibility. You gasp when the ridge of his cock ruts over your sensitive mound, his length parting your lips as he slowly glides over you. He captures your mouth in his own, pouring hot kisses down your throat, parting your lips to play with your tongue, like he is already the victor and he wants you to be spoiled. </p><p>“You are beautiful,” he thrusts over your clit. “So beautiful. Before I met you, I was already impressed.” <em>Thrust.</em> “Here’s this intelligent young woman from across the world and she found me.” <em>Thrust.</em> You moan into his mouth. “This little company so underground, and you already knew about it. I was honoured.” He palms your breast, starting a full blown conversation without once interrupting his rhythm. “Then I saw you. Yabai, I saw you. I wanted you, Y/N. I felt like I would go crazy if I didn’t touch you, so in the middle of the meeting I go to my knees and I touch your feet. What a fucking crazy guy, ne? I thought, this woman will slap me for sure. But the look on your face was… what is that thing you say? Chef’s kiss.” You make a sound somewhere between a giggle and a moan. “Good thing Kiyoko covered for me, but now I have to put shoes on all types of people I don’t give a fuck about. But it was worth it, to still touch you four times a year.”</p><p>Your mind is swirling, ecstasy, elation, yet a touch of envy tugs the corner of your lip down. </p><p>“What is it? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he smoothes a hand over your hair, lifting his hips from yours. The cold air flooding your slick skin sobers your thoughts. </p><p>“No, I just… I always thought there was something going on between you and Kiyoko,” you trail off, searching his eyes for the smallest sign. </p><p>“What? With <em>Kiyoko</em>?” Tanaka laughs so hard you feel the chaise shudder beneath you. “You see a woman ignoring me and you think, ‘oh that must be his wife’, huh?” You can’t help it, his laughter is infectious. He nuzzles you with his nose before pulling you into a deep, fortifying kiss. </p><p>“Me and Kiyoko are like oil and water. Alone, we <em>do not</em> work. No no. But then you add things in, our team, the company, all of it. With oil and water, you can make a beautiful stew. Do you understand?”</p><p>“I understand,” you bite back a smile. </p><p>He continues to stroke your folds with his cock, his body undulating over you. “Now. Can I <em>please</em> fuck you?” </p><p>The minute you nod, he buries his tongue between your lips. As soon as you meet his fervent energy with your own, he nearly roars into your mouth. Pulling back, he sinks down on his knees again, the stretch of his thighs is like a work of art. He wraps your right leg around his waist and holds your left leg up to his chest, raising your hips off the floor at a twisted angle. His eyes never leave your face as he strokes his cock head over your ravenous hole. He plunges the tip in, the muscles in his ab flexing as he holds himself back for you to adjust. Slowly, he sinks deeper, murmuring words you cannot understand until he bottoms you out with a final snap of his hips.</p><p>“Fuck, baby,” he moans when you clench around him, his spine rolling like a reed in the wind. Your leg steadies him, and with your foot beside his face, he peppers your ankle with kisses to thank you for it. </p><p>Slowly, he slides, rolling his hips to feel your velvet walls suck him in, watching you with intense focus to discover which angle makes you melt. He wants to understand you, what you like, what makes you fall apart.</p><p>“What will it take to make you scream like before, huh?” his tone is playful, devious. You love the cocky grin on your face, but right now you want to see the tempest, the absolute monster that surfaced from the waves. It dawns on you that the first time you saw it was the minute you called yourself a— </p><p>“whore,” you whisper the word like it’s sacred. <em>There he is.</em> The dark, twisted dragon is summoned from his depths. Tanaka’s voice is an octave deeper and when he finally speaks to you, it is in slow, dangerous Japanese. “I never would have guessed how filthy you are.”</p><p>“I know that you imagined it,” you reply. His eyes widen.</p><p>“I could tell you were pretending not to understand what I say, but I did not know you could speak,” he growls before switching seamlessly. “What else are you hiding, you dirty slut?”</p><p>Picking up his pace, he thrusts into you, rumbling like thunder as his own pleasure builds. The way you moan and clench around his cock drives him absolutely wild. </p><p>“Is this what makes you scream, huh? I have to spread your legs. In front of all these people. Before you give me what I want? I wanna hear you wailing like a whore. They need to hear you, baby, how bad you are. Taking my cock when you’re at work.” </p><p>Every stroke is unbelievable, laying into you with a rhythm you never knew you needed, pulling out to the tip to make himself shudder, then pounding your sensitive spot like a piston. </p><p> “How many times, huh? Have you been on the phone with me? And thought about fucking me? I bet you touched yourself on our calls. Is that why your video is always off, you dirty bitch?”</p><p>Your fingers could rip through the chaise beneath you. Your belly is molten lava, churning with a heat that flushes your face and burns so fucking good. Each thrust forces a groan from your depths, rising in pitch as you come undone all over again. Every word in every language escapes you, the only thing you can say is his name. It tumbles from your lips, over and over. <em>Ryu.</em></p><p>“Kimochi yoku natte kita,” he groans. <em>He’s getting closer. </em>You push to hold on for him, clamping down on his cock like an anchor in a storm. The waves of your pleasure knock you over without mercy, pounding into you like churning, broiling heat. Your moan is so loud a customer nearby stops in his tracks and looks to the ceiling. The flush on your face, your bouncing tits, the sensuous laugh that bubbles from your belly sends him careening over the edge.</p><p>He all but collapses on you, groaning into your hair, thrusting erratically as you strain the vestiges of cum from his throbbing cock. Too soon, he rises. You feel a cold rush of air where his body should be.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>You guess it would be wishful thinking to expect more. He’s still a client, not your ‘lover’, right? You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly deeply self-conscious. </p><p>“Ryu, I—”</p><p>“One sec,” his voice is muffled behind the bar, but you hear the sharp <em>‘ack’</em> jet from his throat. Moments later, he reappears looking chuffed with himself though he sucks the side of his finger. Gently, he takes a cotton kerchief that he has warmed with hot water and wipes the sticky mix of fluids from your body. “Burn myself a bit. Will you kiss it better?” he teases, lowering his hand to you. His cock twitches when you take his entire finger into your mouth, lathering the tender area with your tongue.</p><p>“Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?” he mutters beneath his breath. Once you are both clean and partially clothed, he lays languidly beside you, stroking figure eights on the soft curve of your chest. As you trace the stars on the dark ceiling with your pupils, a smile creeps across his face.</p><p>“What can I do to get you to stay in Tokyo for the weekend, baby?”</p>
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